


Touch (Or Lack Thereof)

by KnittyGritty13



Category: Naruto
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Sick Character, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Virgin itachi, author is transgender but not transmasc, he had a lot of influence on kisame but we don't know much about them as a team, headcanons for how chakra can be physically felt, i wanted to write a new perspective on fuguki, kisame is both in and out of the closet, tender love and care, unsafe binding, you can't look at fuguki and tell me he's a heterosexual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnittyGritty13/pseuds/KnittyGritty13
Summary: Itachi is transgender. This is a fact of his life, and has been since a very young age, and one he has kept to himself since joining up with the Akatsuki and his partner Kisame. While it should have remained his business, things do happen. What happens when this secret comes out? Will Kisame look at him differently? Are they safe from their feelings in this safe house? Will tight quarters and Kisame's own memories and secrets get to him as well?





	1. Fresh Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome one and all to my long ass self indulgent fic

It was cutting into his skin, and that was okay. He wasn't worried about his skin. Walking around with a wound was child's play. Well, usually it was, unless the bandages pulled tight enough to flatten Itachi’s chest (which he was worried about) had been firmly on for a few days. He could swear the wide elastic bandages under his shirt were slowly getting tighter with every passing hour. They'd started chafing hard enough to cut in the last two days, while Itachi sweat under his cloak in the late spring sun, causing the fabric to, somehow, get even more intimate with the infuriated skin around his ribs.

As for said ribs, they were throbbing. Pain stabbed lightly at his sides under the bandages with every breath. He needed something to focus on while they walked, to keep from losing his mind while he made his way down this seemingly endless forest path. Walking meant harder breathing. Harder breathing meant more pain. He’d have unwrapped himself for a little relief if he’d been alone. But he hadn’t really been alone for a few years now. Besides, taking them off now meant having to put them on again (re-flattening his chest within an inch of its life), and explaining his absence or chest to Kisame. The length of time he could take them off and find relief wasn't short enough to not have Kisame questioning his health or what he was hiding. Not worth making up lies. He’d hid it this long, he could hide it longer.

He had occasionally contemplated the potential reactions Kisame would have to him. Most of them were usually bad, given that his partner was… very overtly masculine. A masculine and violent demeanor. And likely blisteringly heterosexual, given his occasional jokes about being single simply because his face scares the ladies off. Itachi had learned to be wary, especially of men. But it was hard to have to be so wary of someone you spent nearly all hours of the day with. Someone he trusted with his life (which was a lot of trust for Itachi). Having him find out and having that go wrong would also put everything in jeopardy. He could fight Kisame, but he would rather not.

He sighed, thinking upon this some more, his eyes having settled on the back and forth shift of Samehada ahead of him, strapped to its master’s back. His focus was only broken by Kisame turning around to look at him.

“Oi, Itachi. What are you doing all the way back there?” He called, causing Itachi to notice the 10 foot berth that he’d put between them with his weary steps.

“Thinking.” He picked up the pace to take his usual spot next to Kisame. His breathing felt tight.

“Here.” A canteen was thrust in front of Itachi’s face. “You look pale, I can't have you passing out on me.” Kisame wiggled the canteen in emphasis. “It's still cold.”

Itachi tentatively took it, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to his lips. He wasn't thirsty, if anything his stomach contents would prefer to be out than have anything come in. But the cold water helped soothe the heat under his cloak. “Thank you.” He handed it back.

“Just a sip? You’re sure? You're looking pretty green around the gills.” He lifted his head, sniffing and sticking his tongue out. “And you smell sweaty and weird.”

“It's hot.” Itachi didn't humor him. 

“Hot?” Kisame snorted. “I’m fresh as a spring daisy over here, it's cool out. There's even a breeze!”

Itachi sighed, rolling his eyes under the cover of his bangs, taking a gulp to satiate him and holding it out to him again. “Here.”

Kisame smiled. “Stubborn.” He shook his head, taking it back and tucking it back under his cloak. “Try not to fall behind again. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

Within a few minutes, Itachi knew what he meant, feeling an apprehensive prickle on his back. Kisame had a nearly impeccable sense of when something wrong, and Itachi had come to trust that feeling with his life, as well as dread it when that keen sense was turned onto him. “You’re right. I don't like this place. As usual, your shark senses never fail to impress. Until you pull us off course because someone is selling fried shrimp nearby.” he quipped, making Kisame snort.

“Like you aren't the same way when someone's selling dango within a one mile radius.” He affectionately shoulder-bumped his partner, laughing his usual hearty cackle. 

Itachi looked down, smiling to himself. “I suppose so.”

“Come on, the faster we go, the faster we’re out of creepsville, population: one weasel and his pet shark.” He grinned, pointing ahead. “It's literally all uphill from here, Itachi.” He was snickering. The bastard.

He was right though, the ground was starting to crest upward into a hill. Inclined walking. Just what Itachi fucking needed. 

Halfway up, he was doing his damnedest not to gasp in pain. Reason one, to not alert Kisame to anything, and two, gasping for the breath his lungs were begging for would be agonizing. These bandages were tighter than they’d ever been, and only getting tighter and scraping harder into his abdomen. He was used to pain, but this was new. This pain had become nauseating, it made his breathing feel like knives being crushed into his sides and back by a boa constrictor. It was like being dressed in sandpaper. _Maybe it’s worth using the sharingan to make him leave me alone once we’re at the top of the hill. I could cut the damn things off._ He shook his head, jarring himself out of the hasty thought. _We can’t afford to stop if we’re already wary of our surroundings._

While Itachi was lamenting, Kisame had gotten ahead again. Maybe he was just walking fast and Itachi was walking at a perfectly agreeable pace. Itachi narrowed his eyes in irritation as Kisame stopped at the top of the hill, turning to look at him again. “I know, I'm behind again. Apologies.”

“That's not it.” Kisame looked around, nostrils flaring, teeth bared. “We’re not alone. Can you see them?”

Itachi looked around, carefully moving toward Kisame as he did. The sharingan whirled to life in his eyes, clarifying his hazy world. He could, very clearly, see three of them, moving closer from behind them. “Three. I think they're following, not coming across us by a coincidence. We should be ready for a fight.”

“Fish food.” Kisame flashed a toothy grin, taking Samehada from his back. “Good. Samehada is hungry.”

“Then it gets to eat. You can take care of this yourself if they’ve chosen pursuit and hostility.” he backed up into the treeline, giving him some room. Three shinobi, whom Itachi was sure were all about to piss their pants in terror now that they’d realized they hadn’t gotten the drop on them, descended from the trees with their weapons drawn. Unimpressive. What was, and would always be always impressive (and disturbing), was Kisame’s bloodlust. 

Kisame loved to fight, to dismember, to kill. And do it efficiently. Itachi couldn't appreciate the gore of it all, but he could appreciate efficiency. And most of all, he could appreciate grace. From an early age Itachi had admired the work of master swordsmen, and Kisame was the cream of the crop. Even with a blade as hulking as Samehada, it was like a dance, the sword its wielder's partner. The Shinobi attacking him just weren't in time to his steps, breaking the beat and being broken in turn. Unworthy dance partners who caught several flawlessly timed hits. Keeping up was an impossible feat, combat was merely a wild, bloody choreography that only the shark man knew the steps to. Itachi liked to think about this instead of the violence being wrought.

Itachi, several times over the years, noted that Kisame was agile for his size, enough to keep up with Itachi on a good day. If they ever faced each other, Itachi secretly hoped it wouldn't be on a good day. Today this thought was very poignant.

Dispatching one enemy with Samehada, their innards making a stomach-churning ‘splort’ as the end of the blade was used to crush their abdomen, Kisame let out a pleased chuckle. Itachi silently rolled his eyes. _A grandiose display that I never asked you to make_ he thought to himself, sidestepping a kunai thrown in his direction, countering swiftly with two of his own. “It seems as though they aren't satisfied with just one of us.”

“They need to learn to take what they can get!” Kisame laughed, lunging at the Shinobi who had made the attempt at Itachi. “And what they get is this!” He cackled, throwing Samehada upward, hands making the flurry of seals that make up- “Water Release! Water shark bullet technique!” The water shark burst forth from his hands toward his target, a ‘crack’ of bone mixing into the sound of gushing water as the enemy Shinobi was blown backward into a tree. “Itachi, maybe they're bounty hunters. Shitty ones.” He laughed, catching Samehada in one hand. “It’s too easy sometimes! Show me a real fight!” He pointed his sword to the stumbling man who had only just survived his attack.

Maybe Itachi was more affected by the pain than he’d even let himself think. Maybe Kisame had slipped up in paying attention. Whatever and whoever's fault it might be didn't change the fact that a kunai was suddenly sticking out from Itachi’s shoulder. 

It stung. It burned like a kunai had never burned before, he could feel the blood blooming over his shoulder. It felt warm, seeping into his clothes, trickling into his bandages. He slumped backward into the tree behind him, gasping as agony shot through his sides. He was breathing hard, but not breathing enough. The heat from his arm seemed to seep through the rest of him, turning his legs to jelly.

“Itachi!” Kisame roared, dispatching the second with a mighty swing of Samehada before he took his focus to the third. “Piece of shit!” He growled, a sound almost as inhuman as he was.

 _Must be the one that threw the kunai…_ Itachi’s mind barely put together the thought before he started to slump forward. He was caught against a broad chest, two grey hands trying to steady him. _Can always rely on you…_

Itachi’s view went dark.

 

Kisame looked down at the younger man supported in his arm, limp and shaking. He tentatively stroked Itachi’s hair out of his face, pressing the backs of his fingers to his cheek. The little weasel was out cold, pale (well, paler than usual) face oddly serene and expectedly somber. His face was warm, burning even, against Kisame’s fingers. The smell of Itachi’s blood was overwhelming, coppery and putrid with illness. He huffed, tsking. “Itachi… what have you done this time?” 

He shifted him in his arm to get a more stable hold, hand splaying out against his upper back to keep him close. He watched his sleeping face for signs of consciousness, but he was far gone. His face rested like a doll’s, lips parted slightly, long eyelashes resting against the highs of his cheeks, which were pink and hot under his earlier touch. Definitely a fever. He reeked of sickness and Kisame was mentally kicking himself to death for not realizing it sooner, leaving his strong and proud partner to be reduced to… this.

He regretted that there was no time to physically kick himself. It was a long way to the safe house.

… but first, he had to find somewhere to pull the kunai out.


	2. "I don't need pity"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi wakes up, and has a difficult conversation.

It was warm, almost tender, the way one arm held Itachi against a warm body and a hand rested against his back. He felt like a child being carried upstairs by a parent, after being found asleep downstairs. The gentle movement of being carried by someone walking kept him placated and barely awake. He didn't even think to fight. The pain in his shoulder was a lingering throb, too far gone to feel.

In the fuzziness of it all, he slipped under again.

He woke a second time. It was horrible, searing, aching. _Nauseating._ Itachi’s body jerked, sitting up slightly, hand finding the rim of a bucket. He promptly leaned over and vomited, hard enough to make tears fall down his face. “Hh… ghu…” he made nonsense syllables, trying to find words. Where was he? Who put this bucket here? He slumped back down, whole abdomen burning, laid in a soft futon. He still felt too hot and heavy, sinking into the softness. Truly, he was defeated.

Blackness again.

Coming to the third time, there was only one sensation. It stung. It was hot and it stung like wasps. “Fuck!” He hissed, batting at the source of his pain, coming into contact with skin and pushing it away. A soft laugh came from above him.

“Don't be a pup, it’s just a hot compress.” The voice chided softly above him.

What he now realized was a cloth soaked with hot water hurt less the second time. The smells of several medicinal herbs wafted from it, offering his mind a soothing touch. He was cooperative this time as the compress was held firmly against his ribs. Where the bandages were supposed to be.

Itachi gasped, eyes shooting open as he looked down. He’d been stripped of everything sans pants. A small towel had been laid carefully to cover his chest, tucked around under his back to keep it in place. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Itachi looked up, the gentle voice teasing him was knelt next to his futon. It was Kisame, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. At the sight of Itachi’s face, he gave up and let it drop.

“... I’m sorry.” Kisame murmured. There was a world of implications behind his voice. Itachi growled, setting his jaw. 

“I don't need pity.” He mumbled. His blood ran like ice as the tension mounted. He wanted it to stop. He tried to get up and escape the situation, only to be stopped by Kisame’s hand pushing him softly, effortlessly back down. When had he gotten so weak?

“Shh, don’t do that. You have two broken ribs and severe bruising, idiot.” He pursed his lips, brows furrowed, shaking his head. “And it’s not pity.” He looked to itachi’s folded cloak and leg guards, his bloodied chopped up bandages lying next to the neat stack. “I’m sorry I had to cut them off. I couldn't even get my fingers under them to unwrap them. I’m sorry that I saw what you didn't want me to.” 

“I don't believe you. I don’t believe you’re not mad. I lied, and there is nothing you despise more than a lie.” Itachi glared at him; he was disgusted with the fact that this exact scenario was the last one he wanted to be in, if he needed to kill his partner. Depending on how this went, he just might.

Kisame smirked, wagging a finger in emphasis. “You never _lied_ to me. Just had a secret worth keeping.” He soaked the cloth in the herb-laden water again, squeezing it out slightly before pressing it back to the wound that had formed where the bandages cut. “You have friction cuts under your ribs and armpits, all of them are infected. Have me feeling like a moron, not realizing the smell coming from you was an infection.” he grumbled bitterly. “How long were you wearing those?”

“Five days.” He sighed, turning his gaze to the ceiling. The sting of hot water was starting to recede to a full throb with each ginger dab of the cloth. 

“Idiot… elastic bandages like that get tighter with movement. It's how they're supposed to work.” the grey beast sighed with a furrowed brow even though his eyes were still not showing anger or malice. “And you left them on for five days, that explains the bruises and the rash. And the infection.” He leaned over him, pressing the cloth to the other side of his ribs, making Itachi stiffen. He could have sworn he saw Kisame’s other hand reaching out to him before retreating to rest on his own knee instead.

His beastly partner was always one to subtly fret over him. To usher him out of the rain, to chide at him when he overused his sharingan. To light the fire, make food, remind Itachi to eat that food. The shark was the nursemaid to the wayward weasel kit. Astounding for a man who’d initially introduced himself with a death threat. 

“Why do you do this for me?” Itachi was still looking up at the ceiling, deducing this was one of the several safe houses scattered across the countryside. He could hear a river outside. They hadn’t been anywhere near a river when he passed out. _How far did you have to carry me? How long was I out?_

“I’m your partner. Believe it or not, Kiri-nin do have some understanding of the obligation to protect our comrades that isn’t just based on survival. Sometimes we even make friends. Like you.” He wrung the bloody cloth out into the water. “Well, this water is now thoroughly dirty, and you’ve been out for thirteen hours.” He smiled down at him, warm and calm. A face he’d never shown before. “So I suppose I should let you eat before I start aggravating you again.”

_Friend._ Itachi rolled that word around in his head. Friend. That was certainly… loaded. He let his head roll to the side, looking at his new surroundings. One lonesome main room, with a kitchenette. Tatami floors, two futons rolled out on them on either side of a low table. Sliding paper screen doors to the outside were letting in a breeze and the mumble of the river. There were worse places to be recovering. Substantially worse people to be at the mercy of. That same person was now standing at the meager stove, hunched to be able to reach properly. Just like many places they'd been, Kisame was just too large for it. 

Itachi decided to let his focus rest on him, taking in the rare sight of Kisame without a cloak or his ear guard. Kisame was almost more intimidating without the cloak, his broad, bare upper body rippled with muscle and was smattered in scars. His shoes had been respectfully left at the door and his pant legs were rolled to the knee. The only pieces of protection he didn't forgo were the waist guard that hung about his hips and the guards on his forearms. He looked more intimidating, but he looked more like a person. Not a dark, watery phantasm hulking along the landscape, the desired effect of his full attire.

“You should keep resting.” Kisame came back over with a steaming bowl of rice in one hand and a glass in the other, placing both next to the futon. “One second-” he reached back, grabbing his pillow from his own futon, folding it and pushing it under Itachi’s to help him to a more upright position. “There.” 

“... thank you.” He reached for the water, wincing as he tried to take a generous gulp and was only met with pain when he swallowed. Small sips would have to be the way to go.

“Take your time.” Kisame knelt next to him. “We might be here a while.” 

After his late lunch and a few more searing rounds of hot compresses, Kisame finally let him be. He was bandaged up with folded gauze taped down over the scrapes, which were soaked with kami knows what kind of medicinal goop (“It’s the best I can do, the last time I tried to heal something other than myself with chakra I overloaded it”) that smelt strongly of comfrey, and it all throbbed miserably. And perhaps the worst of all, that was still nothing compared to his cracked ribs.

“Is one of those doors a bathroom?” Itachi looked over, Kisame was next to his own futon doing push-ups. _When chakra and Taijutsu fail, the last thing you have to depend on is raw strength_ , that was the philosophy of Kisame’s dedicated physical conditioning. Maybe it was something instilled in all Kiri-nin, to be this fastidious in maintaining the ability to rip arms from sockets. Itachi doubted that though, because if that were the truth they would all be as big as Kisame.

“Yeah. Bathroom works but the shower fixtures are nearly useless. Think we’ll be better off bathing in the river.” He hopped up. “Need me to help you stand?”

He nodded, giving a long internal sigh. He hated being dependent on someone for something as simple as getting up. Kisame wrapped an arm under him to help him, while Itachi clung to the towel, the only thing offering his upper half modesty. He wrapped his arms around himself carefully to hold it on as Kisame helped him stand, steadying him for a few short moments while his blood pressure caught up to suddenly being vertical. “Thank you…” his hissed out, his whole abdomen screaming. He shuffled to the bathroom, closing the door, faced with a sink and a rusty mirror. For fuck’s sake. He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken like they’d never been before. His face was pale as the moon and his lips were cracked. If this was just how his face looked-

He lowered the towel, setting it on the edge. His skin was blotched with a friction rash and blanketed all over with purple bruises. Darkest of all were the ones over where he could only guess his ribs had broken, when he fell against the tree and the tension under the wraps finally became too much. Stitches held his wounded shoulder shut, this he could deduce even with gauze taped over it. Itachi reached up, touching his chest and hissing in pain as the soft pressure made him ache. It was swollen too, it looked larger. 

Suddenly overcome with discomfort, like a pit had opened in his stomach, Itachi put the towel back over. He felt sick. _He felt very sick_ \- he turned, crumpling to the side of the toilet with a wince, vomiting into it. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes from the force, his side felt like it had been stabbed with a red-hot poker. In the back of his mind, he thought about how much worse this might have been if he didn't have something in his stomach to throw up. He flushed it away, standing up shakily, breathing as deeply as he could without renewing the pain in his side. 

He turned on the sink, cupping his hands under the water to get a mouthful, washing the acrid taste from his mouth. He cupped them again, this time taking careful sips to soothe his throat.

A soft knock came at the door. “Hey. Did you just puke?”

“... yeah.” Itachi sighed, supporting himself against the sink. 

“You okay?”

“I'm fine, nothing needs to be cleaned up, I just… I’m okay.”

“Alright.” His footsteps left toward the kitchen.

Itachi took a few careful breaths, stomach clenching as it tried to decide if it was over. You’re weak. “I know.” he whispered. Helpless little weasel at the mercy of a shark. “I know…” he whispered again, clenching his eyes shut. “He wouldn't hurt me.” 

_Are you so sure?_

After he’d finished up, and taken the time to wash his face with cold water, he wandered back out. He was welcomed with another glass of water and a bowl of soup sitting on the table. And to Itachi’s subdued joy and relief, his shirt was folded next to them.

“Got the blood stains out, took its sweet time drying. Undershirt is drying with the cloaks.” Kisame smiled from the other side of the table, Samehada sitting at his side. “Hope you like rice and powdered miso, because that's all that's in this place.” He held up a finger. “But- I found a fishing rod outside. Means there's fish worth catching.” Kisame had his own bowl of rice, shoveling bites into his mouth. “Plus I’m gonna have to go into town tomorrow for external antibiotics anyway, I can get other stuff. Infections are pretty treatable from home. Sepsis? Not so much, Itachi, not so much.” He was speaking with his mouth full. Well, he’d never claimed to have good table manners.

Itachi reached for his shirt, it smelled like sun and fresh air. It probably hadn't been this clean in a while. He turned, dropping his modesty towel and sliding one sleeve all the way up his bad arm before sliding it over the opposite shoulder. 

_See? I’m not entirely dependent on him._

He turned around to kneel carefully at the other side of the table. “Thank you for the food.” He picked up the bowl, warm in his palms. Always comforting. 

“Does it hurt?” Kisame put his chopsticks down and gestured to his throat. “Eating I mean.”

He examined a piece of rehydrated mushroom from the soup, popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, a small wince. “Breathing is harder, worse on the left.” He looked at Kisame, almost smiling as he gestured to him with his chin. “You’ve got something.”

Kisame reached up, plucking the wayward rice grain from his cheek. “So I do.” He laughed. “You know, maybe I’ll grab an ice tray or something in town, we can make cold packs for your ribs. See if we can speed things up.” He put his empty bowl down. “This house has a wheel well generator, can't power much at a time but it should power the icebox.” He popped another bite in his mouth, swallowing this time (to Itachi’s relief) before continuing. “Seems like whoever was out here planned to stay a while.” 

Itachi nodded, looking around. “Lonely, isn't it? One room, kitchenette, little generator.” He turned back to his food. “Only about enough for one person.”

“Two futons, though. Pretty location.” Kisame mused. “Maybe it was some couple’s weekend hanky-panky house.” He shrugged, taking his dishes to the sink.

_Please never say ‘hanky-panky’ again,_ Itachi willed into the universe in Kisame’s direction. “I haven't seen the outside yet, it's pretty?”

“You should check it out-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate the words "hanky panky" so much


	3. Nurse Sharks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kisame remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this actively ignores the boruto canon of the hoshigakis being a monster clan

_-while I’m fishing.”_ Kisame put his bowl in the sink, running water over it and trying to clean the rice residue with his thumb. This little place may have been safe and habitable but he would kill for something as simple as a wash cloth. He’d use the one he’d given Itachi for modesty, now that he no longer needed it. Except, well, it was covered in blood that came from an infected wound. So that was a no-go for dishes until he washed it. He looked over his shoulder, watching Itachi eat all of the little vegetable bits from his soup one by one.

_Dainty as always, ain't ya, pretty boy?_ He smiled. “Just drop that in the sink when you’re done, I’ll get around to it.” He left his bowl half-washed in the sink. He’d deal with it later. “I'll be at the lake. Don't get in trouble while I’m gone.”

“I won't.”

“I was talking to Samehada.” Kisame pulled his arm guards off, tossing them onto his futon and let his heavy waist guard join them with a ‘thunk’, heading out the open door. “If you need anything, uh, scream I guess. Or come find me. Whichever.” He grinned to himself. He could practically feel Itachi’s eyes rolling behind him. “Make sure Samehada behaves. They can be a real brat.” He smirked, Samehada giving one of its rare soft rumbles of protest. “You know it's true!” He cackled as he left, heading down to the riverbank.

He stretched, grinning at the feeling of sunlight on his skin. After spending the first twenty-something years of his life in a land shrouded in mist, the consistent warmth of sunlight still felt new and invigorating.

His bare feet crunched against the rocks at the river’s edge. Sure enough, peering closer, there were fish to be had. He only needed two right now, enough for both of them, but he did like fishing. Well, his method was more like hunting.

He waded into the water, pants thrown over a convenient tree branch. It was cold, wonderfully cold, and he sank down into it with a pleased hum, going under for a few moments. The water rushing overhead whispered in his ears, the current pushed him forward and beckoned him. He felt like a child behind called back into its parent’s arms.

_“Is it too cold?” She laughed, welcoming her young son back into her arms after he’d dipped his feet in the water only to beat a hasty retreat. “Come on, try again.” She took his hands, leading him until the water was to his waist. She giggled, wading in after him, ruffling his hair. “Good, Kisame, that’s very good!” She beamed and Kisame basked in her praise. His mother leaned down, kissing the top of his head, her dark blue hair tickling his face. “You can try going under, if you want.” She took his hand, squeezing softly. “Be careful, okay?”_

__

__

_“Mhm!” He nodded, grinning, showing his mouth full of sharp teeth. Unlike the others, his mother never recoiled from the sight. She only kept smiling back, eyes full of love. He took a deep breath, plunging himself under the surface. His mother’s grip on his hand tightened_.

_That was the first time he ever heard it. The loving, whispering rush of the waves over his head. He opened his eyes, and they did not burn in the salty water. As the waves receded, he felt as though he was being pulled in. Above him, the sea whispered “come closer”. His breath drifted from his mouth, and he didn't feel the need to surface. But he did, shaking his hair out, staring into the vastness ahead of him, amazed. It was suddenly too quiet up here._

_He wanted to hear it again. His hand slipped out of his mother’s as he dove under, and suddenly he knew. How to move, how to kick, how to use his arms. Swimming was as natural as walking, even moreso. He couldn't inhale or exhale and he didn't need or want to. He didn't even register the shouting above the surface._

_Forward, deeper, into the depths where he felt weightless and peaceful. It was painful and jarring when he was forcibly yanked back. He was pulled back to shore, tiny hands grasping for what they could not grip. When his head breached the surface, he cried, hands still grasping for the water below him._

_“No, no, no, no…” His mother’s voice shook as she held him close, dragging her son and herself to the shore. “No, no…” she continued, sitting in the sand, cradling Kisame. “Don't you disappear into the sea, not you too…” she tucked her son’s head under her chin, rubbing his back as Kisame’s body shook with betrayed, angry sobs, bloody tears hitting the sand. “Don’t call him home yet…” she murmured, looking at the sea with wide, terrified eyes. It took a long time to go back to the shore again._

Five fish later- maybe he’d had a little too much fun, plucking them out of the water- and he was headed back. “I’m back and the house isn't on fire, that's a great sign.” He left the fish on the porch, finding Itachi laying on his futon when he went inside, eyes shut and his hair fanned out over the pillow like a puddle of ink. His hands were folded on his stomach, which slowly rose and fell to the cadence of his breathing. The picture of serenity.

Kisame flipped the blanket up over him as he snuck past. “Sleep tight, weasel kit.” He murmured, smoothing the duvet before standing. He let himself linger in the sight for a few more seconds before heading for the kitchenette.

When had things between them changed so much?

_“Even I’m not entirely unkind, Itachi.” He was still looking down, bandaging Itachi’s hand, three fresh stitches holding the wound shut. “And you are my partner now. I’m not keen on replacing you already. Too much trouble.” His hand smoothed a piece of tape over the bandage to hold it in place, letting go of his hand. “There.” He smiled, proud of his handiwork. “Don’t go making me do this often, huh? I’m not going to be your nursemaid!”_

He pulled a knife from the drawer, checking the blade. It would have to do. He carried it back outside with him, picking up a fish and slicing through its throat.

_“You’re a genius but you can be such a damn idiot.” He growled, dabbing at the deep cut with a rag. “You should have let me take that hit.”_

_“You’re doing it again.” He looked up, Itachi looking at him with what could have been bemusement in his eyes._

_“Doing what?”_

_“Being my nursemaid.”_

He held the fish over the edge of the porch, watching it bleed out. Yet another thing he'd killed to survive. People were a lot like fish that way.

_“You are literally the single most infuriating thing I have dealt with in years.” He lifted the canteen to Itachi’s mouth so he could drink. “I’m the one with chakra to spare, not you.”_

_“Why do you always worry about it?”_

_“Because you’re my partner and I’m supposed to be keeping you alive, dammit.”_

_Because I care about you, you beautiful idiot._

It had been a long time since he’d cared about anyone. Connecting with another person was foreign, and at first, uncomfortable. People were fodder. Humans were a dime a dozen. Lives were easily sacrificed for the right cost.

But Itachi was no normal human. And the way he was expected to interact with Itachi was something he’d never had to do before. He had to get used to being able to depend on someone else, and someone else depending on him, in this… partnership of theirs. Partnership. That word had come to mean something new. Or rather, he felt he understood partnership better. The idea of relationships with other people better. Why people desperately seek the comfort of other people. Why they don't like to be alone. Why they fall in love and care for eachother.

_Supposed to be a great white, instead you’re a nurse shark. Ain't that just the way._

He sliced into the first fish to gut it, crossing one leg comfortably over the other. A few more silent hours to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nurse sharks are such a genuinely cute type of shark. Very un-kisame!


	4. What I'm Trying To Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisame has secrets too

Itachi woke to the smell of food. _Good_ food. After only actually digesting the earlier soup, his stomach growled for something more substantial. “... Ayu?” 

“Well, it is the middle of ayu season.” Kisame was standing at the kitchenette’s tiny counter, depositing a few slices of fish onto a fresh bowl of rice. “I take it that means you’re hungry?” 

“Famished.”

“Sounds like your stomach is back to normal. Scared me, when it rejected the rice.” He walked to the table, placing a bowl at either side, bowls of soup and glasses of water already placed. “Not exactly fancy, but it sure smells good, eh?” He crouched next to Itachi’s futon, placing the backs of his fingers against his forehead. “Ah, you’re still warm.” He shook his head. “No matter, right? Let me help you up.” Kisame took his hand away. His fingers had been cool to the touch, Itachi wanted them back. 

Kisame’s hand slid under his shoulders, his skin cooler than Itachi’s own feverish temperature, a touch more soothing than it had the right to be. Much less soothing was the stabbing pain in his side as he sat up. “Ow!” He gasped, biting his lip as he was finally upright. The urge to throw up again twinged quietly in his stomach, he forcefully subdued it with a swallow.

“Ain't it bullshit-” Kisame knelt next to him, “-how the pain center of the brain is so closely related to the one that makes you puke?” Kisame was rubbing his upper back. “You gonna be okay?”

“I'm fine…” he murmured, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes, the pain receding to a throb. He sat for a few moments longer, hands folding in his lap, defeated.

“I know. You feel vulnerable, exposed. Shitty.” Kisame’s hand was still rubbing back and forth against his back, the way one might do for a sick or upset child. “Gonna all be a memory before you know it, though.” He grinned, and that grin, for just a second, made Itachi believe him. Reality quickly took back over.

Itachi shook his head. “You’re smart, Kisame, you have to realize it too, that… all of this has changed things.” He looked at him, into those small black-ringed eyes, watching the smile drop from his face as he nodded, conceding. 

“You… should eat.” His hand slid from Itachi’s back when he stood up and stretched, meandering to take his place at the table. 

Itachi eventually joined him, sitting and looking down at his food with a sigh. “Thank you for the food.” He picked up a piece of fish, silently praying that his body would let him keep this down. He placed it into his mouth, shoulders slumping in bliss as the sweet taste bloomed over his tongue. It had been too long since he’d had the chance to eat ayu, maybe the gods would smile upon him and let him enjoy this treat in full. It would be a welcome distraction from the man across the table, whose eyes were downcast and face pensive. He was considering something. Itachi didn't want to know what it was.

The rest of their meal was in silence. This was typical for them, silence unless Kisame filled it, but tonight he was not so jovial, so the air hung thick. Itachi sat back on his heels, unwilling to be the first to break the moment, watching Kisame from under his bangs. He was on a third bowl of rice, piled with more fish. He had an enviable appetite. Itachi had been teased by other members of the Anbu for his small stature and his apparently “bird-like” appetite. _Come on Itachi!_ they’d say. _You’re a growing boy, put some meat on those bones!_

_A growing boy._ He was used to working with older people, mostly older men. Working in the Akatsuki wasn't much different, in fact, the ratio of younger to old was more leveled out now than it was then. It never struck him how odd it was until it was directly brought up to him.

_“You think it's weird too, right, hmm?” Deidara was checking his nails, leaned against the wall next to him. “Being around nobody constantly except for a partner so much older than us, hm?” He picked at something under his nail._

_“What do you mean?” Itachi looked forward, watching Kisame and Sasori exchange words in what looked to be an equally casual conversation._

_“I mean they pair us ‘kids’ up with the old men, you, me, Hidan- Master Kisame is the youngest of the old bastards and he’s in his lower 30’s, hm!” He gave up on his nails, shaking his head. “Maybe leader thinks we can’t handle ourselves without a babysitter, hm?” He laughed._

_Kisame wasn't any older than a lot of the men Itachi had worked with. Men he’d even ordered around, men he’d been in charge of. He’d never noticed it wasn't that way with the others. Deidara semi-politely deferred to Sasori, calling him and the older members ‘Master’. Hidan liked to talk and act big, but his orders came from Kakuzu._

_With Kisame, though- If Itachi said stop, he stopped. When Itachi said to hang back, he would. He was obedient and respectful, hanging onto use of an honorific for him long after Itachi had started using Kisame’s given name._

_“He’d die for you, you know.” Deidara roused him from thought. His eyes were narrowed. “Is it nice, hmm?”_

_“Again, I’m not sure what you mean.” Itachi glanced back to Kisame._

_“Is it nice to know that he cares about you, hm? That him protecting you isn't just obligation?” He laughed bitterly. “He speaks so highly of you, hm… He would kill and die for you. I'd sooner trust Sasori to throw me in the path of a stampede. Kakuzu regularly lets Hidan be dismembered. But fishboy would throw his neck onto his own blade if you asked, hm.”_

_You would kill and die for me. That hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed._

“... Dinner was delicious. Thank you.” He spoke softly, the mood in the room hanging like crystal that threatened to shatter if he tried to break the silence too quickly.

“I want to tell you something.” Kisame set his chopsticks down, setting his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “If things are changed, I want to tell you about something.”

_Oh no._ He also placed his chopsticks on the table and set his hands on his knees. “Go on.”

“I learned a long time ago how secrets can become lies that we tell ourselves.” Kisame began, the line of his mouth tightening. “I told myself a lie, and so I lived my lie and told that lie to others.” He shook his head. “I resolved a long time ago to stop that. And I did. It went back to being a secret worth keeping, like yours.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Get on with it before I start to actually get nervous.

_“I’m trying to tell you that I’m gay, Itachi.”_


	5. To My Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Mr. Suikazan

Kisame got an early start the next morning, wanting to at least make it one way without having to walk when the sun was high in the sky. He wore his cloak open, straw hat shielding his face. Not that he needed to hide from anyone, he just… found that people were nicer when they couldn't see his face very well.

“Samehada, do you think he’ll be alright?” He knew the sword listened, even if it didn't answer. Today it gave him a soft rumble that Kisame took as a “yes”. 

“Let's see… we need real miso paste, red miso paste, because if I have to live on the powdered stuff until Itachi can be out and about again, I’m gonna lose my damned mind.” He rubbed his chin. “Bread, maybe. Fruit, instant ramen.” He took a small book out of his cloak. “Dried comfrey leaf…” he flipped a few pages. “Beeswax, meadowsweet.” he shook his head. “Kami help me if this town doesn't have an herbalist.” 

Samehada rumbled against his back, able to taste the tension and frustration in its master’s chakra. _“Master… loves… him…”_

Kisame shuddered. It wasn't often that Samehada decided something was important enough to address him directly through their chakra connection. It was like having someone whispering in your brain. 

“Yeah, I do, but I'm carrying that secret to my grave.” He grumbled. He’d been carrying a torch for the Uchiha ever since he’d started to see Itachi for the man he’d grown into. Only a few months, but he’d been hit hard. “Because guys like me have no business loving guys like that.” He snapped the book shut. “And my political loyalties lie with… a different Uchiha.” he mumbled, tucking the small book back into his cloak.

It was a pretty village, trees lining roads and shading storefronts where people stood chattering and putting out their wares for the day. Immaculate rows of fruit resting in neat little piles, bread loaves that were still fragrant from the oven, delicately arranged flowers; a shark’s sense of smell was truly a magnificent blessing at times like these.

These idyllic locations were a little bittersweet, beautiful but carrying an underlying current for Kisame. They filled his thoughts with what a quiet and quaint life he might have been able to build for himself if it hadn't been for who he was, what he was, and where he’d been born. Maybe if he’d been able to have a good life… if his mother had been able to live a good life, free of the circumstances that swept her away in the blink of an eye.

He was more introspective and analytical than people gave him credit for. He knew he had trauma, that it played a hand in the man he’d grown to be. That his boisterous nature was a convincing front that passed as openness with other people. He knew his ability to feel and process empathy had taken a blow, several blows, but did any Kiri-nin who grew up in the era of bloody mist escape that? Being part of a whole generation of disordered minds? Why didn't they all turn out like him?

Well, he supposed, his traumas were… unique to what he was.

_Kisame came to in the dark. The top of his head throbbed painfully and his skin felt clammy and cold, like he’d been tucked to sleep in fog. The world rocked slowly under him, making circles spin behind his eyelids. He hated waking up sick._

_He could hear the waves jumping and giggling, calling to him like they always did when he slept with a window open. He closed his heavy eyes again, rolling over in his blanket. The lullaby of the ocean was enough to keep him sated, to soothe the pain in his head and remind him that he would be alright. He just wished the world would stop feeling like it was swaying under him, this dizzy spell wasn’t helping any other aspect of discomfort._

_“It’s what she would want.” Who was that?_

_“That's bullshit, and you know it.” He knew these voices, he knew them but he couldn't put the names to them._

_“It's at least where she’d want him buried. With her, out here.” Bury who?_

_“Merciful in the end, I guess. Faster ways to pick rotten fruit from the family tree than this.” Family tree?_

_“He’ll only grow up into trouble. For me, for our clan, for the whole damn village. No good can come of him. He is and will only grow into a monster.” … Uncle Aō? “Trust me, this is for the best.”_

_Kisame was suddenly hoisted by his blanket._

_No, not a blanket. A sack, he was in a sack. Round, smooth shapes rolled around him as he was moved, laying heavy against his sides. Rocks. He was in a sack filled with rocks._

_“Uncle Aō?” His voice barely made a sound as his throat’s muscles had frozen in terror. The bag started to move and Kisame started to frantically claw at the burlap. One swing. Two swings._

_“Uncle Aō!” He shouted, grabbing and pulling at the fabric. Three swings. And then he was flying._

_The bag hit the water with a splash, the rocks robbing Kisame of buoyancy and pulling the sack and its involuntary occupant down. Kisame’s last lungful of air was spent on a scream._

_“UNCLE AŌ!!”_

_His lungs filled with water, he struggled for air that wasn't there. When he gagged forth the last bubble of precious air he had, all he was left to do is let the fabric of the bag push him down, the rocks dragging in front of him in pitch darkness as they surged toward the ocean floor. The water rushed in his ears, whispering sweet nothing as the current caressed his face. A farewell._

_It didn't take long to hit the bottom, but he should have already been dead. People drown. People die when they don't have air in their lungs. Was this the part people talked about? That moment before death where time slows down and your life flashes before your eyes? Kisame hugged his knees to his chest. Six years wasn't much to watch. So instead, Kisame closed his eyes and waited to die._

_Death never came._

The girl in the herb shop had long black hair and kind eyes. Once upon another time, when he knew substantially less about compulsory heterosexuality, Kisame might have made an attempt to flirt with her. Instead, he simply bought what he had come for. 

“What are you making anyway?” She smiled, putting the sachets of herbs in a paper bag with a small block of beeswax wrapped in parchment, rolling the top.

“Inflammation salve.” He took his book out, showing her the page where his recipe was carefully transcribed.

“Oh, I never thought to use that in an inflammation salve.” She took out a pen, writing the ingredient on her wrist. “I hope you don't mind me borrowing that.” 

“Not at all.” He shook his head. The medical nin who wrote it in the first place would have been happy her recipe was being spread. “Is there a grocer in town?”

“Mhm, up the road, it's just past this little sake brewery, can’t miss it.” 

Sake brewery. How long had it been since he’d had a drink? Decidedly too long.. “Thanks.”

She’d been right about it being little, but it was nice, it smelled yeasty and sweet, mixing with the smell of the pine paneling the walls. 

“Can I help you find something?” The man at the counter was rotund and elderly. Probably the owner. He vaguely reminded Kisame of the fishmonger on the street where he’d grown up.

“Just looking.” His eyes scanned the shelf, seeing a few labels he recognized. “Do you import?”

“Everyone has a favorite. Can't keep everyone happy on local brewing.” He shook his head, sighing. “No matter, money is money, right?”

“Right.” A frosted blue bottle caught Kisame’s attention. He picked it up, turning it in his palm to look at the label. His gills started flaring anxiously under his cloak.

“That’s a good one.” The shopkeeper nodded approvingly.

“Yeah… it is.” Kisame nodded slowly, thumbing the gold detail of a fish on the label.

 

_“Let’s talk about your future. You will find in this envelope; a business card with an address. Arrive at seven. Give the card to the hostess.  
-Fuguki Suikazan.”_

_Kisame read the letter out loud a second time, to be sure he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating. “Why does he want to see me?” He implored, looking quizzically at the chunin who had hand-delivered the envelope. Quite a bit of trouble to go through for a letter._

_“Search me.” The chunin shrugged his question off, shaking her head. “Ask him yourself. Turning down a direct summon from Master Suikazan is asking for trouble, so I think it would be fair of me to assume you’re going.” She cocked her hip and placed a hand upon it, looking at Kisame with a level of gall that only a high caste guttersnipe could muster around the beastly grey boy. “Right?” She grinned, her teeth were filed to points. A direct subordinate to the seven swordsmen. A very fancy guttersnipe indeed._

_“... Right.”_

_Kagayaki. The same suited it well. The restaurant stood out among the round, brutal, grey buildings, red and gold, full of warm light. These rich and lush locations were foreign and alien to Kisame, places he had never had reason to set foot into. But tonight, he approached it, seven sharp. He took the card from his pocket, turning it in his fingers anxiously._

_The hostess had pretty eyes and flowers in her hair. Real flowers. The luxury of outfitting the hostess and the waitresses with something so rare and frivolous in Kirigakure was not lost on Kisame._

_“Right this way, Mr. Hoshigaki.” She lead him past rows of tables, people sitting on the tatami around them upon brocade cushions, chatting away and passing around plates of food and bottles of sake. Kisame hardly noticed now, after years of dealing with it, how conversation would dwindle as he passed, how eyes would lock on him. Same old, same old._

_“He is expecting you.” She pulled the paper screen to a private room to the side, bowing to its lone occupant. It was an exquisite space, warm and inviting like the rest of the restaurant. It was turned tepid by the cold energy surrounding the giant at the table. “Mr. Suikazan, your guest.”_

_“Kisame Hoshigaki. Kirigakure’s new prodigy of the blade.” The mountain of a man gestured to the seat across from him with a flourish. “Won’t you have a seat?”_

_Kisame, a spitfire at the best of times, found himself cowed by the presence at the table. He jumped as a waitress brushed past him, bowing and giving her apologies. Two cups and a bottle of sake were placed on the table. She bowed on her way out with the hostess, and the paper screen closed behind them. Kisame looked back to Fuguki._

_Manners, Kisame!_

_He hurriedly knelt at the table, picking up the bottle in both hands, the frosted blue glass cold in his palms. Fuguki held out his cup, the small vessel dwarfed by his massive hand, and Kisame filled it. He set the sake down again quickly, lest Fuguki notice his tremor. He picked up his own cup in both hands, nodding his gratitude as the Jonin filled it with a one-handed pour._

_“Etiquette. Very nice.” He held his glass up, nodding to him. “Kampai, Kisame.”_

_“Kampai.” Kisame clinked his glass against Fuguki’s, drinking the cool, sweet alcohol down. It was, bar none, the best sake Kisame had ever had. In Kirigakure, you were an adult once you graduated the academy. The way it was figured, you killed to graduate, so if you were old enough to kill for your village, then you were old enough to drink, smoke, whatever. Kisame had, in a legal sense, been an adult since age seven. He didn't care for smoking, but by age 11 he had come to appreciate a small drink of sake with dinner. Helped wash down what was usually instant food and powdered supplements._

_He put his cup down, pouring more for Fuguki once he put his down as well. “You… said in your note that you wanted to talk about my future.”_

_Fuguki placed the again empty cup on the table, nodding. “How old are you now, Kisame?”_

_“Thirteen, Master Suikazan.” He sat back on his heels, hands on his knees. “I graduated the academy at seven.”_

_“Early graduate, impressive.” He picked up the bottle, pouring Kisame another drink. “Now, tell me- why aren’t you frequently deployed despite your high marks and early chunin promotion?”_

_“I’ve been described as… not playing well with others.” He looked down at his reflection in his drink. “And I agree with them. But, I hope you understand, Master Suikazan… I was never well-liked by others to begin with. They don't play well with me either.”_

_“Why did you become a Shinobi, Kisame?”_

_He hadn't expected that. “My mom. She was a healer. I just wanted to help people.”_

_“And instead your peers pushed you away.” Fuguki nodded slowly. “That must have been traumatic for such a young child.”_

_It had been. Where had this benevolence and understanding been in others? “And I tried healing, but I…” Kisame pursed his lips. “You know how they have you practice healing on fish?” His ears were burning, humiliation bubbling up with the story._

_“I’m familiar, yes.”_

_“My chakra reserves are pretty big, and I… I kinda made it explode by giving it a little too much oomph.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “More than once. So I focused on my sword work, since that was what I was actually good at. And I love it.” He smiled, shrugging. “So I got really off track but I'm sorta happy, I guess.”_

_“Then keep up with your swordplay, stay diligent. Shinobi who use a sword are a dime a dozen, Kisame. True swordsmen are a rare breed.” He chuckled. “Like you and me, for example, in regards to rare breeds.”_

_“What do you mean, Master Suikazan?”_

_Fuguki smiled, baring his teeth. They were serrated and menacing. And they were too long to be filed like the other members of The Seven and their subordinates. They were real. His monstrous teeth were_ real _like Kisame’s._

_“You…” Kisame was at a loss for words. He almost jumped again when the waitress slid the paper screen aside, coming in with a plate, gently setting it down in front of Fuguki. The translucent white fish was arranged like a lotus on the plate, lime wedges and other garnishes resting in the center. Kisame had seen this before, only in photos, but he knew what is was. “That's… Fugu fish.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“But you're a-”_

_“Yes?” Fuguki raised an eyebrow, raising a piece to his mouth. Kisame’s back prickled. It was like watching someone perform some kind of softcore cannibalism. “You know, the organs of the Fugu fish contain a poison deadlier than cyanide. I’m, of course, immune to it, being what I am.” He took another bite. “So even if the chef had made a terrible mistake, I would never know or care.” He picked up another piece in his chopsticks, offering it. “Try some.”_

_“Oh, no, I would feel bad taking a piece of your dinner. Plus, I'm not immune…”_

_“I’m offering, Kisame.” He moved it a little closer. “I trust the chef, so all you have to do is trust me. Do you trust me, Kisame?”_

_Kisame blinked, looking at the piece of fish being held in front of him. He did trust him. Or, he wanted so badly to. So he would. He took the fish, chewing slowly. It was a subtle taste, but it was decidedly delicious. Did sharks perhaps eat pufferfish in the wild? He swallowed, waiting a moment, and feeling no worse for wear. “... Thank you.”_

_Fuguki smiled a little, eating another piece himself. “You know, Kisame, I’m not very old, but I’m not getting any younger. And the Seven are never long for this earth.” Another bite. “So it's come to mind that I should be choosing a direct subordinate who would also act as an… apprentice of sorts.”_

_Kisame’s heart started to pound in his chest. What was he suggesting?_

_“And I had already taken an interest in you, word of mouth travels to me very quickly about young Shinobi who show a specific prowess with a blade. When I inevitably die young, I want my Samehada to stay… in the family.”_

_“Master Fuguki, are you… asking me to be your apprentice?” He put his hands on the edge of the table, he felt like he might fall if he didn't hold something._

_“Do you accept my invitation?”_

_“Yes!” Kisame nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, absolutely yes.”_

_“A toast, then.” He filled Kisame’s sake glass, raising his own. “To your future.” Their glasses knocked together, Kisame’s hand was practically vibrating with excitement. “I think this calls for more food, don’t you?” He raised his hands, clapping once, the same waitress (was she assigned to the room?) coming in again._

_“Yes, Mr. Suikazan? Do you need anything else?” She smiled at him, and then Kisame. Maybe she was used to fish men. Kisame practically balked at how much Fuguki was casually ordering. He was still flabbergasted when the waitress left._

_“Kisame, this is the beginning of a new life for you. I hope you’re looking forward to it.”_

_Kisame was snapped out of his shock, nodding. “I am.” He nodded harder, “Very much so.” Even more so, if this opulent life that Fuguki lead was what he had to look forward to._

Kisame put the bottle back on the shelf, trying to ignore the shake in his hand. “Show me something local.”

“Oh, sure. I'd be happy to.” The little old man shuffled out from behind the counter.


	6. If it's not broken, don't fix it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Itachi remembers.

Itachi had a love-hate relationship with silence. He needed it, like many introverted people who spent so much time with an extrovert, to recharge his mind. But silence could be as loud as Kisame, sometimes screaming in his ears. And now, laying in silence for hours, millions of thoughts and memories had passed through his mind, as the mind is wont to do without external stimuli. Not all of these thoughts and memories were pleasant. 

Itachi sighed, watching the blurry shadows of leaves sway in the sunbeam pouring through the door, left cracked open for fresh air. He laid with his arms stretched to his sides, a comfortable position that didn't compress or extend his muscles in a way that furthered his pain. Kisame had already done that earlier, waking him up for more compresses and changing his dressings. He’d once again offered the towel for modesty, and Itachi had gratefully accepted. Not feeling so exposed made the process easier. 

_“Ah, they already look better!” Kisame had grinned, peeling up the gauze and medical tape. “The swelling is down, but they're still a little red.”_

He’d looked so pleased with himself. Itachi sometimes wondered if he took pride in his ability to care for him. Maybe someday he’d ask. Itachi closed his eyes in a futile search for sleep. The random stream of his consciousness trickled forward once again.

_He’d begun to wonder if they would ever truly accept it. Itachi knew himself, he knew he was a boy, even if his parents didn't fully accept it. They would go through phases of trying, calling Itachi by ‘he’, calling him their son and Sasuke’s brother, only to give up over and over. Itachi would take what he could get, but he could live without… this._

_‘This’ being his mother’s occasional attempts to what Itachi supposed was an attempt to ‘fix’ him. He was eleven, but still a high ranking shinobi, who would usually be an adult in the eyes of the village. But he sat silent, cowed by the fact that this was his mother brushing his hair out, twisting and pinning it to rest in a feminine high bun._

_“Look at you. You look lovely.” She kissed his cheek before standing up. “I’m going to check on Sasuke. Remember, we leave in 10 minutes.” She tucked a flowered comb into his hair._

_“Yes, mom.” Itachi was still looking at his reflection, at his hair, his kimono, the flowers. It was like looking at a different person. Why had she dressed him like this? His peers knew he was a boy, most of the clan knew. She had nothing to cover up but her own inability to accept him._

_Being outside and among people was worse. The looks of pity felt like they were burning on his skin. Every ‘Happy New Year’ was tentative and uncomfortable for both parties, and Itachi wondered if it would be worth it to just slip away and go home. Cast the kimono aside and take his hair down, revel in at least, at least, only being uncomfortable with his body. As opposed to this, being uncomfortable with his body and the way he’d been coerced into adorning it._

_It only got worse the longer he was out. He saw Izumi in the crowd and couldn't hold eye contact. He could see the sadness, the desire to reach out. He prayed she didn't, or the fragile veneer he’d built up for the evening might wash away._

_“They’re really still trying, aren't they?” said a familiar voice at his side. Itachi turned his head, finding Kakashi looking down at him. No pity, just disappointment. Not in him, but in the fact Itachi was still being put in this situation. Kakashi looked at him with a rare tenderness, putting a sincere hand on his shoulder. “... I’m so sorry.”_

_A pit opened in Itachi’s chest, pushing outward like an explosion, pushing tears to the surface. “I hate it.” He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm. “I really hate it.” He sniffled, covering his mouth as a hiccuping sob tried to burst forward. He silently broke away from the bustle of lights and people, ducking into an alleyway and have his pride broken in peace._

_He’d been followed. Kakashi approached gently, and Itachi let him. The copy ninja’s hands deftly plucked the comb and pins from his hair, dragging the hair tie out with them. “Turn around so I can fix your hair?”_

_Itachi turned, closing his eyes as his mentor combed through his hair with his fingers, gathering it into his hand to restore Itachi’s hair to his preferred low ponytail. Itachi reached behind his neck, drawing the river of crow-black through his hand to comfort himself. At the very least, he felt somewhat himself again._

_Kakashi’s hand rubbed back and forth across his shoulders comfortingly while Itachi dried his face. “Do you want me to walk you home?”_

_Itachi nodded silently, face heating up when Kakashi’s hand unexpectedly wrapped around his own. It was warm, a little callused, but still soft. Exactly how he’d imagined it. He knew, of course, in his logical mind that Kakashi was too old for him, that it couldn't, wouldn't, and shouldn't happen. But Itachi still had a crush, one that made his heart flutter when the copy ninja got too close. And now, with his hand in Kakashi’s, his blood pounded in his ears._

_“Hey.” Kakashi spoke quietly, squeezing Itachi’s hand as they stood outside Itachi’s house._

_“Yeah?” He looked up, into Kakashi’s uncovered eye._

_“You’re going to be okay.”_

If only Kakashi had been right. His mind drifted back to the feeling of Kakashi’s hand running back and forth over his back. That was the final time as a child he’d ever been touched like that, to be offered comfort, until yesterday.

He forgot how nice it felt. Touch. How long had it been, since he’d voluntarily touched someone…? He contemplated it, concluding the only one who had ever touched him outside of combat for the past few years was Kisame. Smoothing bandages over his skin, bumping his shoulder, sitting with their backs together while one slept and the other kept watch. But Kisame’s hand rubbing his back, a direct gesture to comfort him with touch? He hadn't realized he missed that until then.

He tried to recreate the feeling in his mind, of the soothing pressure rolling back and forth against his back, the way it gently rocked his body from side to side. His calluses rasped over Itachi’s naked back, his hands were rough-hewn and large. A spread out hand could probably cover over half the width of Itachi’s back. 

_Two hands could probably grip most of your waist_. Itachi blinked. That was certainly… um, a thought. There are more places he could offer a soothing touch than your back. Itachi shook his head, biting the side of his lower lip. These were stupid thoughts. But he wasn't trying to actively stop them. _His hands are rough, how do you think they would feel on more bare skin? On your hips? Stomach?_

Okay, that was enough. He shook his head, reaching down to pull his blanket up. It was nap time, where these perverted thoughts couldn't invade his mind. 

_Do you really want to die a virgin?_

Itachi put his pillow over his burning face, groaning. His proclivities in attraction had tended to lean toward older men in the first place, and coupled with the fact that Kisame was strong enough, smart enough, and fast enough to keep up with him? That was, in its own strange way, a very attractive feature. He had several of those that he’d bet Kisame didn't know or notice, and ones Itachi wished he himself didn't notice. With his strange, animalistic features (which seemed to be the only parts of himself the beast could see), Kisame was wholly unconventional in the looks department- but Itachi had not often gone for men who were conventionally attractive. 

These thoughts were still stupid, so Itachi put his pillow back and went back to attempting to take a nap. This had to be some kind of result of Itachi suppressing his hormonal urges as a teenager. Horny teens were supposed to be horny teens, not Anbu captains, clan killers, and S-Rank missing nin. He was only thinking about Kisame like that because he was the only man Itachi was always around, right? The only buff, older, deep voiced- 

“No.” Itachi pulled the blanket over his face. This was part of the “hate” side of the silence. It screamed the truth more often than not. 

After a few more long, awkward minutes, Itachi managed to doze off for a little while. It had felt like a blink, one minute awake, the next the room was bright with afternoon sun and filled with the quiet sound of a mortar and pestle. Itachi lifted his head to say something, greet his partner, but was stopped when he noticed the small object on his stomach wrapped in wax paper. He slipped an arm out of the blanket, picking it up, the paper crinkling softly in his grasp. 

“Good afternoon.” 

Itachi glanced over, Kisame was grinning over his shoulder. He still forwent all of his protective gear, but his cloak was hanging about his shoulders, collar folded down. “Did you sleep well?”

“Relatively.” Itachi turned his attention back to the parcel in his hand. He peeled away the small piece of tape holding it shut, opening it up to a very welcome sight. A melonpan, golden and perfect, the sugar on the surface practically sparkling. Itachi was actively salivating, sinking his teeth in it without sitting up. The crunchy cookie layer gave way under his teeth, the sweet bread underneath was soft and tender. It had been too long since he’d been able to indulge in sweets. His eyes closed in absolute bliss.

“I was gonna just get one loaf of bread, but, I mean, she had just taken the melonpan out of the oven. It would have been such a waste to not buy them too, you know?” 

“Terrible waste.” Itachi agreed, taking another bite, ignoring the crumbs getting on his neck and the pillow. 

Kisame placed his herbs in a cloth, tying it shut and plunking it into a pot. “There. While that's-” he gestured over the pot, “doing stuff, how do you feel about lunch?”

“I'm in favor of it.” Another bite, his plans to savor his treat were promptly thrown out the window. He glanced over as Kisame when he didn't have a joke or retort, only to find him just watching him, smiling. “What?”

“Nothing, I was just noticing the color starting to come back into your face.” He moved his attention back to the kitchenette, digging around for a pan, placing it on another burner. The sound of oil hissing as chopped vegetables were dropped into the pan was a welcome sound. He watched Kisame cooking, just to have something to watch while he ate. Kisame dabbed at his face with his sleeve after a few minutes, sighing. “Is it way too hot in here for you too?”

“A little.” He nodded, looking woefully at his empty hand. Goodbye, sweet melonpan. 

“I’m fucking dying, and the stove ain't helping.” Kisame unceremoniously dropped his cloak, expectedly shirtless underneath. Of course Kisame had to walk around like that while Itachi was still trying to forget his very stupid thoughts. Although- Itachi could have chosen a much worse object of lust.

_Now_ that _is a stupid thought._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all that's written so far so get ready to do some waiting.


	7. Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi has a shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is very short, isn't it? Don't worry, Chapter 8 is more meaty.

Two days passed in peace. Itachi slept for most of it, willing his body to heal and leave him free to move. Kisame napped on and off, content to spend his time tinkering around the house using some tools he’d found. Within a week, lo and behold- Kisame managed to fix the shower. By the end of the second day, he even managed to get them hot water.

Itachi’s first shower in ages was like heaven. He stood there for what could have been hours, water washing over his body. He was alone, and warm, and content. Alone, how often could he say that? A wall between him and Kisame for more than a few short minutes. Not that he wanted to escape Kisame, but Itachi certainly took notice of the lack of Kisame’s chakra buzzing near him. The lack of his breathing or voice. Sure, they’d been separated before. This wasn’t entirely new, but in this… vulnerable state, Itachi felt strangely alone. He never realized how much the other’s presence relaxed him until deep into their partnership, that Kisame’s humming chakra, voice, breathing, sighing, he missed those things when Kisame was gone. Because then the silence would start to scream in Itachi’s ears.

_Why are you thinking about him so much? You have plenty of other things to think about. You could think about… bad things. We could think about those. We can think about our guilt._

Itachi clenched his eyes shut, biting down on his lip. He shut the water off.

The towels were a dingy color, but Kisame had cleaned them within an inch of their lives and dried them in the sun. Itachi reached for one with shaking hands, giving himself a cursory drying before pulling his clothes on. He needed sound. He needed another presence.

He needed a distraction. 

_He needed Kisame._


End file.
